Writing about other family members

Okay, here's a childhood anecdote.

* * *

I was in my bedroom and it was late. Maybe midnight. My mom and I were the only ones home and she was asleep, so I was quiet and most of the lights in the house were off. I decided to walk to the kitchen.

I walked down the hall, turned left into the living room and stopped. I saw a man in a fuzzy red suit and hat and big black boots standing in the middle of the living room. Santa Claus was standing in the middle of the living room. My dad, dressed as Santa Claus, was standing in the middle of the living room.

My dad looks like Santa Claus all the time. He has a big belly and white, white hair and a bushy white beard. Everyone tells him he looks like Santa and that he should get himself the costume and dress up during the holidays. But he scoffs and considers that foolishness and says that Santa Claus is cute and he is definitely not cute and there are serious problems to solve in this world and he wants no part in the charade and the terrible lie we perpetrate on our children with this Santa.

Except this time, when no one was around but me and I was about 10 years past believing, he decided to put on the hat, the coat, the pants and the boots and stand in the middle of our dark living room in the middle of the night for I don’t know how long to wait for me to walk in.

When I did walk in, he was perfectly surprised. He startled. He gasped. His eyes darted around the room for just a few seconds, just long enough for me to point and sputter, “You!” And then he ran. He took off to the other side of the living room and into the dining room, past the table and through the door to the kitchen.

He was faster than I thought he would be. I just caught a glimpse of the fluffy white ball at the end of his hat as he turned the corner to the stairs that led to the basement. I had to pick up my speed to make sure I didn’t lose him as he ran down to the basement and through the finished family room into the office in the back, then around the furnace and through a narrow corridor until I cornered him in the far back of the basement, cowering in front of the washing machine. He never spoke a word and gave me the impression that he couldn’t speak and was barely more than a wild creature who had never actually seen a human before and had no idea what to do now that he was looking at one.

I stopped just in front of him. Now that I had caught him, I could only lean on the wash basin, laughing and panting. And there wasn’t anywhere to go with his performance, so he straightened up, the fear left his eyes and he started to laugh. We stood a little awkwardly for a few minutes, out of breath and coming back to ourselves.

“Where did you get that thing?” I asked him, touching the suit and hat.
“Karen got it for me. I’m supposed to wear it for a party,” he answered.
“But I thought you didn’t want to dress up as Santa.”
“I don’t!” he answered suddenly, as if I had reminded him of this fact. “It’s silly!” We laughed again.

He took off the hat and the coat. “This suit is hot,” he said. I followed him as he walked toward the basement stairs to go back up and get his stuff and head back to his house.

“That was hilarious,” I told him. “That was the funniest thing I ever saw.” I giggled a few more times and he smiled back at me, but his smile didn’t last long. He had to get back on the road. He wasn’t Santa anymore.